A Snail's Pace

Usually when I see a snail I  walk the other way, all the while shuddering as I think, "People eat those things?"  Well now that I have a very curious puppy, walking away is out of the question.  Zeus loves all kinds of creatures, but he is especially fascinated with snails.  

Recently we have seen many snails on our morning walks.  Just today we saw a large snail sporting an intricately designed, brown shell.  I was shocked at how beautiful it was; it looked like it had been hand decorated by an exotic henna artist!

For a few moments I stood distracted as I admired its outward beauty and tried to keep Zeus from tormenting it to death.  But it wasn't long before I grew bored because I knew that wasn't the real snail.  What I wanted to see was the slimy, messy, unattractive but infinitely more interesting snail with little antennas and funny eyes.  I wanted to see what was inside that fancy shell.

As we stood quietly our patience was rewarded as he slowly began to emerge.  He looked both ways several times, twitched his antennas and finally exposed his vulnerable body to the elements AND to my dog.  Of course, Zeus was eager to play with his new "friend" and scared him back into his shell almost immediately.

I always thought that everything about snails was slow, but boy howdy when that little fella felt threatened by the giant, eager puppy blocking his path he retreated faster than the speed of sound!  I stood giggling for several more minutes as he repeatedly emerged at a typical snail's pace and retreated like a speeding bullet at the first sign of Zeus.  Each time he was scared back into his shell he became slower to emerge and quicker to retreat.    

Finally I made Zeus wait off to the side so the snail could breathe.  Once he felt safe enough to begin traveling again I watched as he made slow but steady progress toward the giant shrub that he was intent on destroying.  My landlord may have preferred that I let Zeus scare him away but I just couldn't do it, because in observing that snail, I observed myself. 

I am a lot like that snail.  It takes a very long time for me to poke my head out and see if it's safe.  It's an agonizing process and requires much patience from those who are curious about what's on the inside.  If I feel safe once I'm "on the outside" I make slow and steady progress toward my humble goals.  Sadly I often destroy good things in a continued effort to protect myself when I feel vulnerable, but unlike the snail I specialize in self-destruction!  Once someone or something scares me I retreat more quickly than that snail, speeding bullets have nothing on me.  I am quick to protect the vulnerable, slimy, mess hidden inside.  I paint, pad, clothe and generally use my shell to distract people from the real me, and I fall into that pattern over and over again.

To be fair, the shell is necessary at times.  It doesn't do much good for me to always play the martyr or to live as a victim.  Yet exposing the truth of myself is risky because I can easily get hurt, even by people I trust, or especially by people I trust.  But it doesn't change the fact that I want to live without fear when I'm outside of my shell; to do my work, love my friends and reach out to those in need.  I want to expose the real, slimy mess of my life to people who will help protect me from the harsh elements so I don't suffocate or shrivel and die inside of myself.  The only way I find the courage to try again is when I remember that God loves the real me more than the shell.  In exposing myself to others I'm really exploring who I am and letting His love and redemption transform me into the woman He always hoped I would be instead of a shell of her.

So now you know, I'm a slimy mess, slow and awkward.  Maybe by admitting that it will give those around me freedom to expose the truth about themselves, because as I've discovered, living in a shell is kind of like living in my own little prison.  It might be pretty but it's still a gilded cage.

 

Little Blue Demons

True confession ~ there was a time when I believed that The Smurfs were little blue demons. Of course I also believed that Satan was encoding secret messages in "secular" records (I went to the seminar), that Bill Gothard was right (cough, cough), AND that Armageddon was imminent, er, well imminent anytime between 1988-2048, guess the jury is still out on that one!

Sigh. All of that sounds ludicrous to me now. I cringe red-faced when looking back at the misguided zealot I was. How many people were wounded by my unfair criticisms?

Yet I still know many, many people; sincere, kind, warm, compassionate friends and family who believe those same things or at least the 21st century equivalent of them. Still, I refrain from judging them because I've matured enough to know that I'm not right about everything although I often tend to believe I am wiser and more enlightened than my fellow travelers. ☺

It's easy to forget that we are all navigating our way through a confusing landscape of morality. It took many years for me to learn that I don't have to compromise my deep convictions and spiritual beliefs to embrace humility, grace and kindness. Sometimes I forget that or feel insecure and threatened by someone else's differing viewpoint and react by spewing harsh judgments. Perhaps it's easier to focus on the "little blue demons" in others than the ones taking up residence in my own life. 

These days those annoying blue characters are things like pride, selfishness, entitlement, lack of mercy, loving poorly. Basically they are my own negative character traits, I no longer worry about everyone elses because mine take so much time and energy! So even if we passionately disagree about matters big or small, I will try to respond in kindness without compromising what I believe to be true. Now if you'll excuse me I want to watch an episode of The Smurfs before it's too late, what with Armageddon and all.

Bad Romance

Embarrassing as it is to admit I have an affinity for Lady Gaga's music.  Despite the fact that her eccentric and exhibitionist personality is quite distasteful to my more conservative sensibilities.  And as bad as the lyrics are, I mean seriously referring to male anatomy as a "disco stick" is not exactly poetic, I still listen and laugh.  Not to mention her costumes.  Honestly, if you're going to dress like a Muppet and call it art, then we're probably not going to have anything to talk about now are we? 

But her music is so catchy it makes me wanna dance, which rarely happens these days!  I bop along in my car and office completely oblivious to the spectacle I create.  The fact that I'm not embarrassed is actually more embarrassing than my horrendous dancing and singing skills!  

Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah

Roma-Roma-ma

GaGa, ooh-la-la

Want your bad romance

I want your ugly I want your disease

I want your everything as long as it's free

I want your love, love, love, love

I want your love

Hm, I don't know about you, but based on just the first few lyrics of one of my favorites, Bad Romance, I sense that Lady Gaga's idea of love and romance is pretty twisted and FAR different from my own view.  After all, I'm not really interested in getting anyone's disease!  And I'm smart enough and old enough to know that nothing is free, especially love.  It always costs something.  Just ask Jesus.  

Don't worry I'm fresh out of soap boxes so instead I'll just tell you about one of the most beautiful expressions of love I've ever witnessed.  A few years ago I watched as my niece was serenaded by her new husband at their wedding reception. Tears filled the eyes of every wedding guest as we watched him get down on one knee and belt out a song that obviously meant the world to them.  He wasn't a professional used to singing for an audience, he lacked the polish of a trained vocalist and his voice was a little shaky.  Simon Cowell would have butchered him.  But he didn't care, instead he risked humiliation and rejection to sing to the love of his life.  And in that moment he proved that he would love her without fear, and more than his pride.  It was the best performance I've seen in my entire life.  Lady Gaga should take note because that's romance, good romance.

God give me the courage to love so fearlessly, honestly and humbly!

Barbie Doll Wannabes

I was in Las Vegas last week. Land of bad Elvis impersonators, an Eiffel Tower knockoff, gondolas that glide across shallow swimming pools instead of murky canals, AND an over-abundance of fake boobs. Lots and lots of silicone.

Come to think of it, aside from Sin City, I don't think I've ever seen so many fake boobs in one place. Not to mention the fake tans, fake hair, fake eyelashes, fake nails, fake noses, fake lips, fake ____________ (fill in the blank). Everyone seemed to be masquerading as someone else. It was difficult for me to discern fantasy from reality, well at least until I looked into the mirror!

Remember that Oprah episode about human Barbie Dolls? It chronicled women who had spent thousands of dollars and endured multiple surgeries to transform their faces and bodies into living, breathing Barbies. With each surgery their noses got smaller, cheekbones more defined, lips plumped, boobs enlarged and fat sucked away. Post-surgery their hair was blonder, teeth whiter, tans darker and jewelry flashier.

In the altered reality of Vegas I encountered one of those women. She almost knocked me over as I tried to exit the casino. As I stumbled I was struck by a few things, including her enormous, fake knockers. She was frighteningly skinny, no bigger than a size 0, her tanned and leathery skin stretched uncomfortably over her 5'10 frame. With her stilettos and teased, blond hair she appeared to be 6'2. Her tiny body could barely support her enormous chest and it was all she could do to stand up straight as she held on to her date for dear life. After my initial shock wore off I looked more closely. I ignored the barely there mini-skirt and the tight & tacky spandex tank top and focused on her distorted features.

Her lips were filled with too much collagen, her brow smooth and shiny from Botox. Restylane filled her cheekbones and fake, feathery eyelashes framed her wrinkle-free eyes. A tiny, upturned nose was barely noticeable above her bee-stung lips, and eyeliner was expertly painted to draw attention to her cat-like, blue eyes.

Although she held herself with an air of confidence, her eyes were empty and she seemed brittle and hollow. It was achingly obvious that she was not as young as she tried to appear. The attention she drew was mostly from people gawking in horror. No one was fooled by her vanity; clearly she had purchased Nicole's nose, Anna Nicole's breasts and Angelina's lips. And all of the money and painful surgeries had failed. She did not look like a Barbie Doll.

As I watched her walk away I thought of how often my own vanity or pride causes me to live under pretense. I don't want people to see how messy my life is, how deep the wounds, how severe the traumas, how pathetic the vanity, how painful the suffering. I would rather appear to have it all together, or to seem smarter or funnier, or even kinder and gentler. But just like the wannabe Barbie, others see through the pretense, and in the instant I choose to keep hiding I miss out on letting them know me as I am, instead of who I wish I were. Funny how that works.